At Gunpoint
by B.A. Tyler
Summary: In the middle of the night, as most of the camp sleeps, Hawkeye finds himself staring into the barrel of a loaded rifle.


**At Gunpoint**

_How in the hell did this happen?_ Hawkeye thinks as he stares into the barrel of a rifle. He's got his hands held high and his heart is hammering in his chest, threatening to wake up the entire camp. He would actually be OK with that—waking up the entire camp. Then maybe somebody would come to his rescue. As it is right now, there isn't a soul around, except for him—very frightened, very tense—and the person on the other end of the rifle.

Klinger.

Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger, who has been bucking for a Section 8 discharge since time immemorial, has finally gone completely, stark raving insane. This is not a joke, as Hawkeye realized the second the rifle was thrust into his face. This is not Klinger coming up with some new scheme to get shipped out. No, this is Klinger going off the deep end, and in spectacular fashion.

"Klinger," Hawkeye says softly, trying to sound rational and helpful, trying not to sound scared out of his mind, "put the gun down and let me help you. I can go to the Colonel and we can get you some help. You wanna talk to Dr. Freedman?"

Klinger's response is to shove the rifle even further into Hawkeye's face, missing his nose by a fraction of an inch. Hawkeye flinches and shuts his eyes, praying the gun doesn't go off. He also shuts his mouth.

"I don't want to talk to nobody! I don't need help!"

Hawkeye would beg to differ with that statement, but he's trying to stay alive, and that means he needs to tread carefully here. He's no psychiatrist, he's not sure what to say to a crazy person. For the moment, he says nothing, but ventures a look around to see if anyone has come out of any nearby tents. No such luck.

It's got to be about 2 in the morning, and Klinger's on overnight guard duty. The only reason Hawkeye is awake is because his bladder had called to him, waking him from a deep sleep. He was simply heading back to the Swamp after his jaunt to the latrine when this whole bizarre situation came down.

At first nothing had seemed amiss. He'd seen Klinger approaching out of the darkness and had amiably greeted him with, "Hey Klinger, love that dress, but the shoes don't match. You usually do a better job than that—" And he'd stopped in mid-thought, because that was when he'd seen the look in the corporal's eyes. A look that sent shivers down Hawkeye's spine.

"Halt right there!" Klinger had said, and Hawkeye had halted not at the words themselves, but at the completely unrecognizable conduct of his longtime campmate.

At first Hawkeye hoped he was wrong, was misinterpreting, was just witnessing another Klinger excursion into the psycho playground. "What's the new gag, Klinger? You know I don't have any authority to give you a Section 8. So don't bother performing for me, it would just be a waste of your time."

"Section 8?" Klinger had said with a truly baffled look on his face. Then he shook his head, as if to dismiss the subject. "Don't try to confuse me. Don't play games with me. I'm not buying it. I know what you are."

It was at this point that Hawkeye began to realize something was terribly wrong. It was more than the vacant look in Klinger's eyes, although that was certainly disturbing. It was the fact that the corporal seemed like a completely different person than the one he knew. This was a Klinger he'd never experienced before. He wasn't just _pretending_ to be unhinged; he actually was.

So Hawkeye'd taken a very small step toward him, to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder or otherwise comfort the man, and that was when the rifle came up, pointed directly at him, in his face. He froze as Klinger cocked the gun. It was clear he would use it; there was no doubt in Hawkeye's mind. Instinctively, he put his hands up in the classic surrender position. See that, nothing up my sleeve!

"Do not move even one inch!" Klinger had barked at him, his eyes fierce. "Don't even think about it!"

And so this is where they are—stalemated. Hawkeye's not moving, just standing there with his hands up, and Klinger's glaring at him and claiming he doesn't need to talk to anyone, not Dr. Freedman or anyone else for that matter. Hawkeye's out of ideas already. He can only hope somebody will come along and see what's going on.

Still, he's the kind of guy who talks his way out of things, and it's his nature to keep trying, even though the person he's talking to is apparently beyond reason. "Was it something I said or did? Do you have a problem with me, specifically? Or is it just the war? We all have our breaking point, we're all human—"

"Don't talk to me like we're alike! I know what you are, and you're not human!"

This is news to Hawkeye. He can't fathom what that's supposed to mean. "I'm not?"

Klinger's eyes narrow and he leans just a bit closer. Hawkeye would be inclined to take a step back except he's been told not to move, and he's taking that order very seriously. "I know you're an alien," Klinger reveals. "I can tell."

Hawkeye takes a deep breath. This is rapidly going from plain-vanilla crazy to down-the-rabbit-hole crazy. He's an alien? Where did this come from? For a second, he vacillates back to thinking that Klinger's pulling his leg, that this is another harebrained scheme after all. But then he recalls how close he came to getting his head blown off by a rifle just moments ago, and he knows this is real.

Calmly, he says, "I'm not an alien, Klinger. I'm not sure where you got that idea, but I can assure you, I'm just as human as you are."

Klinger's not buying it. Once again the rifle comes close to clipping Hawkeye's nose. Another flinch, an involuntary whimper. Hawkeye's so terrified now that he's trembling. "Stop lying! You're an alien and you're lucky I don't just blow you away right this instant!"

In his agitation, Klinger's voice has gotten loud and the commotion has stirred the camp, finally. They both hear the door of the Swamp bang open and B.J. calling as he runs toward them, "Hawk? What's going on out here?"

Klinger whirls on B.J. then, his focus shifting from Hawkeye, and Hawkeye takes that tiny window of opportunity to seize the rifle. Just as he's reaching for it, though, Klinger whirls back toward him again… and fires.

The sound of the rifle shot is deafening, piercing the night air, and then all hell breaks loose. But Hawkeye only hears a millisecond of the mayhem as people come running from all over camp. He's been hit—hit in the head—he reaches a hand up and it comes back bloody in front of his glazing eyes. He's falling to the ground and at the same time, he's traveling very, very rapidly down a long hallway…

"No! No! Dammit!" Hawkeye's own screaming wakes him up, and as he kicks and thrashes about, he falls out of his cot and to the Swamp floor.

B.J. sharply turns around on his own cot and looks at him, startled. "Hawk? What's going on? You have a bad dream?"

Hawkeye's breathing hard and his heart's thundering in his ears, but thank God, yes, it was only a dream. The whole damn thing was just a very vivid, very chilling nightmare.

"Oh Christ, that was one hell of a dream, Beej," he says from his position on the floor. For the moment, he's too shaky to pick himself up and get back onto his cot. "Sorry I woke you. But I'm glad I woke myself. I'd just been shot." He reaches a hand to his head, making sure there's no gunshot wound up there, and of course there isn't. He lets out a deep breath and looks at his bunkmate, bewildered.

B.J. chuckles and shakes his head. "The movie, right?"

Hawkeye smiles sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess so. Remind me never to watch an alien picture right before bed again."

"Watch the skies everywhere! Keep watching the skies!" B.J. quotes the movie they'd watched that night, mocking his friend's active imagination.

"Not funny, Beej. Not funny at all," Hawkeye mutters as he crawls his way back into bed. He sighs as he collapses onto his back. In a few minutes, he's asleep again… and this time, mercifully, it's dreamless.


End file.
